Relapse
by Ifyousaysodearie
Summary: Bored and lonely Sherlock falls back to his old heroin habit to find some sense of comfort for a night.
1. Chapter 1

It was a beautiful thing, Sherlock decided, reconnecting with the bliss that was heroin. He had little trouble finding it once he decided upon indulging in a brief relapse. Though others would disagree he found nothing wrong with his choice to go back into the warmth and numbness of the drug. He had little motivation to stay sober between the lack of any case on the horizon and the loneliness he was feeling now that John was with Mary so often.

Upon returning to 221B Baker street Sherlock nearly bounded up the stairs to avoid any contact with or suspicion from Mrs. Hudson. Locking the door to his flat behind him and retrieving the small bag of heroin from his trouser pocket. A small smile curled the corners of his lips, his eyes alight as he admired the powder inside the clear plastic. He placed it on the coffee table beside the sofa and went to find his tools. Going upstairs to the second bedroom that belonged to John he went over to the window and knelt down prying up the loose floor board. No one ever thought to look here, they were always searching his room for signs of the drugs but John was not an addict. Plucking up the board and smirking down at the small black case that was still hidden in its place. Opening the box to inspect it he was not surprised to find the contents exactly as he had left them. Inside was two clean needles and the spoon he favored to cook his heroin on. He headed back downstairs and into the bathroom, grabbing a cue tip and a small bit of water before heading back into the parlor.

He sat down in on the sofa and began to set everything up as he needed it, measuring out a little over half of the bag onto the spoon and adding only the slightest bit of water to help it dissolve. Taking out a pack of cigarettes and a torch from his other trouser pocket he began to heat the metal of the underside of the spoon. Eyes carefully examining it as his wrist delicately swirled the small pool of solution on the metal, watching it come together nicely. Sherlock could not wipe the expression of excitement from his lips, delighted with his own handiwork. Carefully, very carefully he set down the spoon on the table and hastily prepared the needle. With the greatest gentility he let the now liquid heroin pour into the chamber. His long, clever fingers flicking the glass as he expertly removed any air pockets and let the drugs cool a bit.

Rolling up his left sleeve he studied his veins, looking for one that was primed for injection. His pale skin let him find a beautiful, thick purple-blue vein as his right hand held the needle oh so ready to enjoy himself once again. Sherlock rarely thought of himself as a happy person but despite the problems it had caused he remembered the happiness that came with every high from the precious few milliliters inside the hypodermic needle. With a steady hand he eased it towards his flesh, aiming with absolute precision he let the cold metal pierce his milky skin.

The acute sting that came from the needle only went noticed because it was a sign that he was close to what he wanted. His thumb slowly began to press at the stopper and he watched the mixture empty into his blood stream, a small amount of blood pooling inside of the needle once it was emptied. Removing it and setting it back upon the table he leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. Letting out a long soft sigh of pleasure as his body was enveloped in that familiar warm kiss of his mistress, heroin. The drugs quickly coursed inside of him and he felt his muscles release every bit of tension that they had been holding on to for so long, for too long.

Sherlock opened his eyes, his apartment seemed hazy as his mind thankfully slowed even just the slightest. He doubted most people could truly appreciate the quiet mind that came with the intense high of it all. Soon even that thought was quieted as he sat staring blankly around the room. His eye lids felt heavy as he took in his surroundings, looking to the skull on the mantle and letting the smallest of laughs. He would pay for this later if Mycroft ever found out that he had relapsed but in this moment of sheer bliss he could not care. He was no longer bored, he no longer was lonely or thinking of his crime-solving partner. He was happy and numb even if it was artificial and to Sherlock that was a beautiful thing indeed.


	2. Who needs friends?

Sherlock felt himself slipping in and out of conscientiousness as the heroin reached it's peak. His limbs felt strangely detached as he wiggled his fingers in a subdued sort of awe. This was one thing that never got old, it never bored him or disappointed him not once. Sitting up to tidy up the evidence from his little excursion back into addiction before anyone could happen upon him unexpectedly. Standing and boxing the needle once again, tucking what was left of the fine powder inside the case as well as he went to the bookshelf. Hiding the dark box behind several books and turning to face the record player. His hands pressed together, finger tips held to his lips as he was lost in a thoughtful daze about what sort of music to pick. Finally he settled on 'The Doors: Strange Days' it felt appropriate and anyone who was familiar to being in the unearthly numb that was heroin knew that this music was perfect for the occasion. Settling down on the sofa again and drifting off into a much needed sleep.

Hours later he heard a key enter the lock, it stirred him slightly and then suddenly he realized that his sleeve was still rolled up. Noticing the pack of cigarettes just in time as well and chucking them across the room to be unnoticed in a pile of junk. Quickly he fixed his shirt and fastened the buttons a bit clumsily around his wrist just in time for John to walk in. "Evening." the man nodded as he entered the flat.

"Evening." Sherlock replied with a small nod.

"You were there last night when I left," Watson observed seeing that Sherlock had not even changed his outfit. "Have you not moved since I left?" His tone was incredulous, he did not understand how such a sloth like man was so slender.

"Afraid not." Sherlock lied glad that his usual nature would play along to his still drugged body.

"I'm shocked you haven't fused into the couch." John scoffed and headed into the kitchen. "Tea?" he called back to the other man.

"Yes." Holmes replied simply.

His mind was racing, surely John would notice after they spent so much time together, he was caught. Surely his pupils would be dilated and his skin slightly clammy. Still Sherlock stayed calm and lazed on the sofa as he heard John being busied in the kitchen. After several minutes the man came into the room two tea cups in hand, his lanky arms reaching for the drink gladly careful not to make eye contact with his friend.

"Are you alright?" John asked curiously.

His heart began to race, he was discovered of course but he was going to deny it in any way that he could. "Why do you ask?" he took a long draw of tea.

"Well Sherlock I've been here a whole of five minutes with out being called an idiot. Should I be worried?" A friendly grin was worn on Watson's face.

The man still lost in a heroin haze halted his brain to realize that the other man was joking. Of course he was, perhaps the drugs had worn off enough by now that he seemed normal? "I'm fine," Sherlock said flatly, "And you're an idiot, if that makes you feel better."

"It does and it doesn't." John shook his head slightly amused by the quip. "I know I haven't been around much today but I'm spending the night at Mary's. Need anything at the grocery before I head out?" He always was concerned with feeding the svelte detective since he seemed to forget to eat so often.

"I'm perfectly capable of shopping for myself." Sherlock's voice held a tiny tone of contempt. "Why do you need to spend the night there?" He probed.

Watson frowned and furrowed his brow, "Surely I don't have to explain to you again the concept of sex." Setting his tea down on the coffee table and waiting for the expected apathy from the brilliant yet somehow ignorant man on the sofa.

Holding up one hand as if to halt John mid thought, "No, I understand that much. Why do you need the whole night?"

John's expression changed to that of bemusement. "Oddly enough women don't like it when you shag and run Sherlock." A small laugh held in his voice.

"Oh dear god, how boring your life must be." Sherlock's gaze met the ceiling as he rolled his eyes.

Comments like that never went well with Watson, he should have known better. After a moment of rather tense silence there was the sound of an annoyed sigh. "At least I'm doing something…or someone rather. You've been on that couch now what twenty hours?"

It had been less than that of course since Sherlock had gone to purchase his precious powder but he would not correct John. "Your point being?"

"How the bloody hell could you call spending the night with a woman boring when you have been sitting on your arse all day?" Anger peppering John's voice now.

Sherlock said nothing and yet another sigh came from his friend. "I can't stay long, I just came to make sure that you hadn't melted into the furniture yet."

"Kind of you." Sherlock spoke sardonically setting his tea down as well now. He threw his body back on the sofa rather dramatically to communicate his lack of amusement that John felt the need to stay away another night.

"I should be going." John's voice barely audible as he tried to keep it even. "I'll have my cell on if Lestrade needs us for any reason."

Standing he walked his cup to the sink and emptied the remainder of the tea into it. Thinking to himself that the other man seemed upset maybe even jealous of the fact that he would be gone again. "Are you sure you don't want me to stop at the grocery?" He asked as he reappeared into the parlor.

"Positive." Sherlock spoke coldly, "Wouldn't want to keep you of course, besides I'm not hungry."

"Of course you're not." John breathed exasperatedly as he made his way to the door. "Call me if you need me." His hurried himself out of the flat as soon as he said that.

Several moments passed and Sherlock was fuming that he was left alone to his own devices yet again tonight. Soon the anger dissipated as he realized his own devices meant he would be able to finish the drugs he had purchased earlier. If John was busy shagging for three minutes and then stuck there for the night then he would have all the time in the world to enjoy his taboo pleasure. He made his way to the bathroom, in less of a hurry this time he remembered he should swab himself with alcohol if he wished to avoid infections from the injections.

Retrieving the black box from behind the books and setting it on the table, he locked the flat door again. Settling in on the couch, glad he had a second needle that was already sterilized so he didn't have to waste that energy. If he was going to be bored and going to sin anyhow he might as well do it all the way. He began to prepare what was left of his heroin as he thought to himself that of course John did not notice anything was awry, he didn't care. He had Mary now, he had some one to occupy his mind and time and was in a rush so the small signals of drug use were lost on him. If only Mycroft cared what he did then Sherlock saw no reason to hesitate in his own remedy for boredom. As he heated the spoon a second time he was glad to be alone, John could stay gone for all he cared at that moment. He had his habit, his old companion, his heroin who needed friends when you could be numb?


	3. Chapter 3

After hours of looming sleepiness Sherlock had given in again. He slept as soundly as he had in a long while strewn on the sofa. Waking with the first light of the morning shining in through the windows. Stretching and blinking looking down at the table still dazed from the drugs. His eyes were scanning the room to help break him out of dreams and back into reality. Looking down to the table he saw that he had gone through nearly half of the fresh pack of cigarettes last night and that the little box that held his paraphernalia was out as well. Suddenly in that instant he was glad that John was distracted for the entire night.

After several long minutes he forced himself from the sofa and began to hide the evidence from his venture last night. Throwing the windows open to attempted to air out the distinct scent of Lambert and Butler's fair grade Imperial Tobacco. Looking to the clock he saw that he had barely been awake for ten minutes and he was already bored with the day. Looking around the flat for something to occupy him, failing to find anything that held his interest. Sighing and turning a bit dramatically on his heel, heading into the shower; that should pass some time.

Sherlock turned on the water, letting it warm as he looked into the mirror above the sink. His long fingers combing through his hair for a moment before he shed his clothing carelessly onto the floor. Wondering when John might be home or if he would be out for the entire day again. It had now been three days with out any sign of a case, it was still early though perhaps an exciting homicide happened in the middle of the night. The bathroom began to fill with steam, he had evidently lost himself in thought as he composed hypothetical scenarios in his mind of what disasters might have happened in his sleep. Stepping into the shower and relaxing his body into the heat of the water. Sherlock's brow was furrowed in thought even as he washed, it was simply something that he could not turn off.

When he was done with the shower he was nearly despondent seeing that it was not even eight A.M yet. "Bored." Sherlock spoke aloud to himself, "Utterly bloody bored." his deep voice fell into a sad sort of whisper. Going to his laptop he began to read the headlines from the night before. A woman was stabbed on the tube, video surveillance caught the assailant; boring. A drunk car crash in Trafalgar Square, two dead and another in the hospital; dismal and boring. A missing woman who clearly had run off and was not missing by the look of the husband in the photo he was drunk and possibly abusive; absolutely tedious.

Slamming the lid of his computer shut and pushing away from his desk. Sherlock restlessly went to his cellphone and saw no missed messages, no leads, nothing to focus on. He decided to try to watch one of those crap telly shows that John seemed to like so much in the morning. Turning it on barely able to focus for a moment as the female host prattled on about how to make a spinach scramble. Deducing her to entertain himself even for a brief moment, she was nearly 40 though had enough surgery that some might think her in her early 30's. She was well dressed of course but her outfit was almost garish, she clearly wanted to take the attention off of her co-host who was dressed in neutral colors. She was pregnant, early stages, he doubted that she knew yet by the bit of bloat on her face that contrasted her fit frame. She was married, happily though it was clearly in the very early stages of that marriage. When the show cut to a commercial he knew that this was not going to do.

Eyeing his cell again Sherlock considered the day he had ahead of him. If nothing came up he could hardly stay like this for too long. It was maddening to have his mind racing and to be left to his own methods of entertainment. Before he had even realized what he was doing he was up walking out the door heading to find someone in his homeless network who could find both cocaine and heroin.

Having no desire to keep sleeping but wanting to slow his brain enough to stop the grinding he felt inside of it. Sherlock was going to speed-ball his way through this horrible, boring day. The drugs helped yesterday go by so quickly and he knew they would not fail him even when all else did. Finding Tommy, a slightly intelligent young man who was well connected and did a fair amount of business in this trade. Sherlock had thought before that Tommy would be quite wealthy if he wasn't lost in the throws of a rather serious and expensive habit of his own. As he expected the other man had what he wanted even as early as it was; he really was an excellent businessman for a homeless person.

After he had what he wanted he headed back towards Baker Street, hailing a taxi. Mid-route his cell made a small noise to indicate that he had received at text. Retrieving the phone he read

'Sherlock, the flat stinks. I thought you had quit cigarettes.'

Rolling his eyes, he typed without looking. 'Clearly not- SH'.

Of course it stunk in the flat, he should have had the windows opened last night but he was far too lethargic to care. Still smelling smoke didn't mean too much, it should be expected at this point when ever he was without distraction for more than a day. 'Seriously Sherlock did you smoke an entire pack while I was out?'

'Half a pack- SH' Sherlock corrected John and looked out the taxi window suddenly a bit anxious. He had counted on being alone for a bit longer, John must have had a row with Mary or else he would still be in bed.

Soon the cab had turned onto Baker street and Sherlock paid his fare and headed inside. Greeted by the less than amused look from his flatmate and the rather pungent scent of aerosol spray. "You think that smells better than the tobacco then?" Sherlock asked with clear distaste in his tone.

"Yes. Yeah I do, probably going to get cancer from them both might as well smell like a garden." John's voice rang of exasperation. "Where were you off so early anyhow?"

Sherlock hesitated for only a moment as he sized up the expression on his friends face. Suspicion, clearly but also concern, "Went out for some coffee." He lied cooly.

"We have coffee in the flat," John looked at him puzzled, not knowing Sherlock to leave unless he absolutely had to. "And where is it then?"

"Drank it." Sherlock kept his answers short, only lies had details. "I was bored so I left." That much had been true at the very least. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was hiding drugs on his person. Did John have any idea that he might have gone out to get them? No, he wouldn't be being so passive with his suspicion. Still it was unsettling knowing that he might be discovered by the good doctor. He was going to have to hide them well at any rate just in case, no need to get caught in his little relapse. That would be a head-ache that Sherlock would rather not deal with at all.

"Alright, well then any leads from Lestrade?" John inquired heading into the kitchen.

"I'd have phoned you." Sherlock sighed, angry almost at being reminded of the lack of things to do.

When his friend came back from the kitchen he was sipping his own cup of coffee. "I think you need to get a hobby." he looked to the clearly restless detective.

"A hobby? I have a hobby, in case you've forgotten the pair of us share the same hobby." Sherlock spoke with an exasperated tone as if offended at the idea that he had brought this boredom on himself.

Shaking his head John frowned, "I mean an actual hobby, a collection or building model planes."

Sherlock scoffed, "Oh yes I'm going to spend my time gathering stamps into a little booklet or putting together tedious tiny, non-functional scale models because somehow that would be more stimulating than gouging out my own eyes."

"A simple no would have done." John looked away from him and pulled his laptop closer to him, still looking at Sherlock even as he pretended to look to the screen.

Even this conversation was frustratingly boring and he thought again to the small plastic bags inside his coat pocket. Throwing himself onto the sofa and looking to the ceiling, it was torture having the solution to his problem but not being able to use it. Many minutes of silence stretched out between the pair of them and John looked to the clock on the mantle. "I've got to go into the surgery for a bit. Text me if anything comes up will you?" His tone seemed to hold a familiar timber of longing. Sherlock smirked at this, good at least John was bored as well.

"Yes." He replied simply letting the other man know that he would contact him if anything interesting like a murder happened.

John left and a childish sort of glee flooded Sherlock's entire being. He was going to be able to distract himself exactly how he wanted to after all. Today might be better than he thought, locking the door to the flat and going to retrieve his little black box once again.


End file.
